


Twenty-Seven 8x10 Color Glossy Pictures

by sherlockian4evr



Series: Getting It Together [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions - sort of, M/M, Sherlock is a Tease, pre-first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock leaves a folder in John's chair for him to find. It's contents weren't exactly what the good doctor was expecting. Cue Sherlock being a tease.</p><p>Beta read by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110">Sherlock1110</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Seven 8x10 Color Glossy Pictures

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ioga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ioga/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Case of the Viewing Wall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5941873) by [Ioga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ioga/pseuds/Ioga). 



> If you get the song or movie reference, let me know!

John wandered down from his bedroom to the kitchen where he opted for a morning cup of very strong, very black coffee and wandered into the living room. He started to sit in his chair and noticed a folder. He figured it must contain something to do with a new case.

Opening the folder, the doctor slid out a stack of what appeared to be photos. They were face down. He turned the stack over in his hand and when he saw the subject matter of the top most photo, his heart skipped a beat.

Sweet Mary, Mother of Jesus!

John flipped through the photos, counting and definitely not looking at what was on full display. He held in his hands twenty-seven 8x10 colour glossy pictures (without circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one) of Sherlock in all his nude glory.

The detective swaggered in, impeccably dressed as always. "Ah, John. I see you found my photos. What do you think?"

"What do I... Bloody hell!" John shoved the photos back in the folder. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, then covered his eyes. "You posed for these damned things." The doctor opened his eyes and waved the folder in the air. "Someone saw you all... Naked!" Gorgeously naked. Beautifully naked. Stop it. Stop it, John, he's not yours.

"Problem?" Sherlock smirked.

"Yes, problem. Did she pose you?"

"He."

"What?"

"The photographer was male... And gay." The detective allowed himself a little fist pump at John's obvious discomfiture. The photographer had been Mycroft, of necessity, and it had cost him the promise of six cases – pro bono. It was well worth it to make John jealous. "It's irrelevant. I simply need to know which photos you find to be most aesthetically pleasing. Your assistance would be most appreciated."

“Nope. Nope. Nope. Not happening.” John tried to stand, but Sherlock had moved around him and pressed down on his shoulder.

The doctor gave a shudder when Sherlock leaned in close to his ear and said, "You can simply tell me which pictures you like or I can deduce it." The detective turned at his last words and let his breath ghost over John's ear and neck.

John could feel goosebumps raising across his flesh and he shifted his head away from his sexy as fuck flatmate. When Sherlock released his shoulder to reach around him and pluck the folder from his hand, John groaned because he just knew... Yes, he'd been correct. The detective had unerringly homed in on the single photograph John had been unable to ignore.

"Interesting," Sherlock said in his voice like velvet. "What can be learned from studying this photograph?" He rested his chin against John's shoulder from behind and held the picture in front of both their faces.

John needed to close his eyes. He should close his eyes. He really, really tried to close his eyes. He didn't.

Sherlock wielded his deep baritone like a weapon. "The subject of the photo appears to be looking into your eyes, does he not? It's a steady, penetrative gaze that sees into your very soul. He measures you and weighs you and definitely does not find you lacking."

Oh, if only Sherlock would look at him like that, John would be his willingly, but this had to be for a case or for some twisted experiment.

"He's on all fours," the detective continued, "crawling towards the camera. An act that appears, at first, to be an act of submission, but look at the way the subject holds himself. He's actually a predator on the prowl. He's stalking his prey - you can see it in the way his muscles are tensed."

Like a lion, no Sherlock was something more sleek, a lynx, perhaps. He was something beautiful and dangerous. John had always been drawn to danger.

Sherlock selected another photo, John's second favourite. "And this picture. It can tell us even more. See how the subject is standing half in shadow with his back turned partially towards you. Look at the lean lines of his back, arms and legs. He is thin, but there are clearly defined muscles highlighted by shadow. What do you imagine it would feel like to be held in those strong arms? Would they bend you to his will or would they cradle you gently? And there, can you see? There's just a hint of the desire he has for you, the viewer, just the merest glimpse of an erection."

That was it, John's paralysis broke and he lunged from his chair. He found himself leaning on the desk across the room with his head hanging down between his arms.

Sherlock came up behind him. "John," he purred, "don't run from me."

"Don't," John warned without looking up from the desktop. "You've had your fun, collected your data, run your little experiment." His voice was full of bitterness. "I didn't think you would be this cruel, not with me." He felt a large warm hand rest on his shoulder and run down his arm. "Please," he whispered.

There came a rustling sound as the detective threw the photos on the desk. "John, I'm not being cruel. I'm showing you what you can have." He leaned against the doctor, letting the other man feel his own desire firm against him. "I. Want. You. Only you, John."

The doctor sucked in his breath and turned to look into Sherlock's magical, multi-coloured eyes. He didn't see any duplicity there, just a deep desire for him, John Watson.

It all happened in a flash, Sherlock's mouth was on his and it was wonderful. John let himself be lifted by the detective's strong arms and sat on the desk. He leaned back under the welcome onslaught, his hands sending the photos skittering this way and that. John smiled inwardly, soon he would get to see the real thing.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to podfic or translate this or create a drawing based on it, go for it. Just please let me know and link back to my fic.
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](http://shippingintothenight.tumblr.com).


End file.
